


Elevate Me Later

by IrishCreamTruffle



Series: Love is Stronger than Witchcraft [2]
Category: NXT, Professional Wrestling, WWE, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 08:19:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6231196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrishCreamTruffle/pseuds/IrishCreamTruffle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe Sasha hit her head too hard after NXT: Takeover.</p><p>Maybe she didn't. </p><p>Follow up to my Sakey (Sasha Banks/Becky Lynch) piece "Brooklyn Calling." Now part II of the "Love is Stronger than Witchcraft" series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elevate Me Later

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Elevate Me Later
> 
> Pairing: Becky Lynch/Sasha Banks 
> 
> Rating: PG-13
> 
> Disclaimer: I clearly do not own anyone or anything. I can also show you my bank account to prove to you that I have not made any money off this, nor will I. As far as I know, it never happened.
> 
> Notes: Takes place right where Brooklyn Calling left off.. You can figure out what’s going on without reading Brooklyn Calling, but Brooklyn Calling helps put this in context. I don’t know when or how, but this has turned into the (at least) “Love is Stronger than Witchcraft” trilogy. 
> 
> Before I get on with this, I want to thank everyone who took a second to look at Brooklyn Calling and an even bigger thanks to those who left me kind words, follows, and favorites! I know it’s not a common pairing and femslash isn’t the forefront, so I appreciate everyone who gave it a chance! Now, on to feelzy soundtrack, and then story! 
> 
> Black Rebel Motorcycle Club: “Too Real”
> 
> Black Angels: "You on the Run”
> 
> Doves: “Sky Starts Falling”
> 
> Robert Pollard: “Love is Stronger than Witchcraft,” “Blessed in an Open Head,” “The Weekly Crow”
> 
> Luna: “Sideshow by the Seashore,” “Lost in Space,” “Kalamazoo,” “23 Minutes in Brussels” 
> 
> The Jesus and Mary Chain: “Never Saw It Coming,” “Feeling Lucky,” “Dirty Water,” “Gimme Hell,” “Hole,” “Wish I Could,” “Tumbledown,” “Catchfire,” “Roller Coaster”
> 
> Guided by Voices: “Storm Vibrations,” “Beat Your Wings,”
> 
> Pavement: “Haunt me Down,” “Zurich is Stained,” “Loretta’s Scars,” “Perfume-V,” “Elevate me Later,” “Stop Breathing,” “Same Way of Saying,” “Rattled by the Rush,” “Black out,” “Grounded,” “Father to a Sister of Thought,” “Starlings of the Slipstream,” “You are a Light,” “Cream of Gold,” “Ann Don’t Cry”
> 
> Interpol: “Rest My Chemistry,” “Untitled”
> 
> Built to Spill: “Trimmed and Burning”
> 
> Worries: “West Queen,” “Since Then,” “Winter,” “Houses, Gardens,” “Dead,” “Smoke”

“We should clean up, hmm?”

It takes Sasha a second to comprehend that she’s not being kissed anymore.

It takes her another second to realize that someone has just said something.

And it takes her just about one more second to understand what’s being said to her.

She’s slow to catch on but she’s had a hard fight and an even *harder* night, but Becky’s lips were soft and warm and so were her hands but now they’re all gone so she’s *not* going to beat herself up over it.

She’s staring into Becky’s eyes even though she doesn’t really remember opening her eyes at all. Becky’s eyes are brown like hers. Well.. not exactly. They’re lighter; they’re much lighter, and some other color, a low ember of some other ambiguous color, glimmers through. How light brown do eyes have to be before they’re considered hazel? It’s a color that Sasha’s never really understood, a color that’s just shy of being some other color.

Sasha takes a moment to imagine what it would have sounded like if she had actually said that out loud and she comes close to laughing. Bayley must have hit her in the head harder than she thought.

Becky’s still close, leaning over her, a hand on either side of her, braced on the make-up table that’s also supporting most of her weight. Sasha cuts herself another break, lets her hands drift up to Becky’s waist, lets her thumbs rustle under the fabric of Becky’s t-shirt, slip under just enough so that she can press her thumbs against the edge of Becky’s hipbones. The waistline of Becky’s shorts meets but doesn’t obstruct her fingers. Sasha stays where it’s warm and soft and familiar for one more second before she slips out from under Becky. “Under Becky” is a term she uses lightly given their positioning, but it’s close enough.

Sasha pulls at the string tying her wrist cuff together, shoots Becky a much more gentle than usual warning glance from underneath the hair that has fallen in her face. “I’m not putting out.”

She’s not expecting Becky to laugh in her face but that’s exactly what happens as she’s unclasping the back of her bustier and working her arm out from the maze of straps. Becky walks over and helps remove her arm fully from the binding, pulls the bustier off entirely and hangs it from an open locker door.

The swirls of Becky’s fingertips graze the back of her neck as she scoops Sasha’s hair into a temporary ponytail. “Oh, please. I’m going to work up a sweat just trying to get this knot outta yer head. C’mon, now.”

Sasha can’t point to the particular moment when they’re both naked, but they are, and it’s swift and with little fanfare as they step into the shower and she dials the valve to something hot enough where steam emits along with the water.

Becky’s behind her, but Sasha somehow catches a glimpse of blue gel with exfoliating beads and a puffy pink puffball of puff.

Becky’s hands slick over Sasha’s shoulders, a warning and thoughtful touch, then an easy pull until Sasha’s back is pressed against Becky’s chest.

And this isn’t a completely foreign thing. Being naked together. Between matches and workouts, neither of them had thought twice about getting naked in front each other, not while changing, not while showering.

But while it's not different it's also not the *same.* While not sensual (not this time, at least), it’s *intimate.*

“Here,” Becky’s hand holding out the loofa registers in Sasha’s peripheral vision, “I’ll take care of this,” Becky’s other hand goes in her hair as illustration, “You take care of the rest.”

It’s only as Sasha begins lathering with the loofa that she realizes just how *sore* she is, feels the spark of bruises that haven’t risen to the surface of her skin yet as she continues to soak. It makes her think of when she used to play Operation as a kid, the unpredictable flashes of light when she’d hit a sore spot, imagines that she lights up just the same way he did.

Becky’s hands in her hair do not help. Her fingers keep getting caught, keep pulling, little Operation flashes of pain at her scalp as Becky’s fingers work through angry snarls. Sasha’s grateful that she’s not tender headed, doesn’t need to humiliate herself by making pained noises throughout the process.

Becky seems aware enough though, hums something apologetic enough that’s audible over the spray of the water. And to Becky’s credit, she hadn’t been lying: it’s taking fucking forever to bring her hair back to something manageable. The next time that Becky puts the bottle of conditioner down, Sasha can see from the corner of her eye that the bottle is almost empty.

Sasha’s not sure when the breakthrough comes. She knows that she’s a prune by the time it does, but she’s glad regardless. Becky seems to have made her way through the worst of it, and Sasha’s shoulders go slack for the first time in… years? Years, maybe. The pads of Becky’s fingers press against her scalp, thumbs kneading the roots of her hair; it's exquisite to begin with but even more-so because it’s the second time tonight that something hasn’t *hurt* and it’s amazing.

She doesn’t know how long it goes on for, just knows that the urge to lean all of her weight back against Becky is overwhelming and very close to becoming a reality.

Becky rouses her with three pats to the hip. Sasha thinks there’s a brief caress that follows it, but she’s close to unconscious and it passes so quickly that she can’t be sure.

“Head back,” Becky murmurs, and she sounds so much more like her hairdresser and so much less like her sworn enemy and it’s so surreal that Sasha does laugh a little this time. Becky must hear it too because Sasha’s not the only one laughing after a second or two.

One more rinse through and then Becky cuts off the water and Sasha follows her lead out of the shower. Sasha glances down at herself and grimaces as she’s been downgraded from prune to raisin. The steam billows through into the rest of the room, the bench and room strewn with shimmery blue and glittery gold ring gear.

"It looks like RuPaul threw up in here,” Becky quips as she reaches for a few towels.

Sasha laughs again. She can’t remember if it’s the second or third time tonight; she just knows that it’s not the first.

Becky sweeps up behind her, wrapping her up in the towel even before she wraps herself up, something that surprises Sasha but also doesn’t. She does it like it’s nothing, goes back to gathering her own pieces, muttering “less glitter, less glitter” to herself as she digs about for something presumably fitting that description.

Surprisingly enough, especially considering that Becky had come in empty-handed at the beginning of the night, Becky finds something normal enough to wear, and Sasha feels like a human for the first time all night as she finds something as well.

Becky drives them back to the hotel. It’s a silent ride. They’ve never driven in silence, but tonight is evidently a night of firsts.

It’s a silent ride but it’s also a short ride, and Sasha will take all of the favors that she can get. They continue walking together as they head to their rooms. Sasha hadn’t been paying attention when the receptionist had told Becky the room numbers, and she remains unsure of whether they’re just going the same way or if Becky’s walking her to her room.

“I’m this way,” Becky says, apparently having paid attention for the both of them, as they stop in front of Sasha’s room door.

Sasha takes a cautionary glance around the hallway, verifies that they’re alone even though she knows that they are.

She reaches out to Becky, captures Becky’s fingertips with her own, leans up and in on her tiptoes, even though she really doesn’t have to.

“Still enemies?” Sasha murmurs warmly, like it’s a good thing.

It beckons a slow smile from Becky, who looks at her like she brought her roses. The knuckles of Becky’s free hand move to press gently under Sasha’s chin, muttering “always” just as tenderly before pressing their lips back together.

It has the rhythm of a peck that got carried away, and Sasha feels like it’s been forever since they’ve last kissed when it’s been anything but. It feels like it goes on forever but also not for long enough.

“Well,” Becky breathes as she pulls away. Her eyelashes are heavy over her eyes, and Sasha’s glad she’s not the only one who's hesitant for it to end.

Successfully softened up for the night, she gestures to the closed room door behind her, “You can come in, you know.”

Becky presses her lips together in thought. “Mmm, I’m afraid that might make it tough for me to keep this on an enemies-only basis.”

Sasha exhales a laugh that Becky matches. Becky squeezes and then releases her fingers easily from where they’re linked with Sasha’s. She walks to her own room down the hall, offering an “I’ll catch you,” over her shoulder as she keeps moving.

In at least one way, it’s the goddamn truth.


End file.
